


We Leave Someday

by thebluefeather



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 20:16:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2786309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebluefeather/pseuds/thebluefeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They said Dominique didn't smile enough; James knew they just didn't know how to make her happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_August 20th, 2037_

 

Dominique sits in the sunshine in Diagon Alley. She thinks it’s amazing how the Muggle world can evolve and change so dramatically, yet this little street so rich with magical history looks almost the same as it did when she was only a child, so many years ago. She’s sitting at a little table on the outside patio of what used to be Fortescue’s before the war. It’s owned by someone else now, but still feels the same as it always has right down to the old painted sign out front. It’s nice, she thinks, that today of all days, she can come back to something that’s still the same.

            After all, this is the first time she’s been in the wizarding world in twelve years. In fact, it’s the first time she’s even been in the country in twelve years.

            Her hair shines rose-gold from the midday sun, and its only as long as her shoulders, but she remembers when she used to let it hang wild down her back. James would run his fingers through it in the quiet moments when they would lay together in darkness, or perhaps steal a bit of peace in the whirling dervish of a family they grew up in. That’s why she cut it.

            Today of all days, the breeze lifts up the strands, and they tickle her neck, and it gives her shivers when she closes her eyes and remembers. But she’s been remembering for twelve years, and it never brings her more than shivers and a leaden weight just beneath her breast bone because James is gone. And the few bits of him she has left are like sand, and the more she tries to hold onto them the faster they slip through her fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

_August 20th, 2025_

 

In the soft light of almost-dawn, she rolls over and throws her arm out and the other side of the bed is cold.           

 

.

 

Dominique stands by the window, waiting for an owl. He was supposed to return late yesterday, _yesterday,_ but she woke and his side of the bed was still empty and the pillow undented, and now she’s waiting by the window for an owl. She sent one of her own to the Auror office the moment she woke to find him missing, but it’s afternoon now and she’s heard nothing.

            Maybe she should floo her Uncle Harry because he’s the Head after all, and he would know why his son never returned the night before, but no she can’t do that. Because then she would have to tell him why she knows his son never came home, and that it’s because she let the lease run out on her own flat not two months after moving in, and half of his son’s closet holds her clothing, and her socks are in the first drawer and her pajamas in the second, and that other toothbrush by the sink is hers.

            So she’ll wait a little bit longer, and then she’ll go in with some excuse as to why she was looking for her cousin at all and find out where Jamie’s at because it’s not with her.

            She doesn’t have to wait long, because an owl - her father’s - lands on the sill.

 

                        _Dominique, you need to come home. - Dad_

 

            It’s a short message. So very short, and she should have known, _she should have known_ that those seven words were so so dangerous.  But she doesn’t know, so she feeds the owl a treat, pulls her hair back, and floos to her parent’s house.

           

.

 

            She stumbles out of the fireplace and is greeted by members of her family she hasn’t seen in weeks. Louis is there, just having graduated from Hogwarts eight short weeks ago, but she had lunch with him four days before. Her father leans on the jamb that separates the kitchen from the den, and the jagged lines that drag across his face stand out even less than the grim expression on his mouth. Her mother sits with little John on the couch and baby Dora in her lap, gripping his hand tightly and brushing wispy hair from her smooth baby forehead.

            But it’s the sight of Victoire crouching protectively over Teddy’s bowed back that shakes with wracking sobs, his hands tangled in hair that’s changing so quickly it’s like a color show that lights the spark of awareness and _she knows._

            Oh no no no she knows, but for just a moment she pretends that it’s something else, _anything else,_ until she hears it, a name like a prayer slipping from Teddy’s lips and slashing her open like a curse.

            “James.”

            And she’s running, scrambling, tripping through the den and past her father at the jamb because she just has to get out just so she can...and she rips open the front door and falls to her knees right there on the stoop so hard that the stone splits the skin. She just needs to be alone for this moment because they can’t see this because she’s not allowed to feel _this_ , but she does and oh it hurts. It hurts so bad.

            She feels a hand between her shoulder blades - it’s a catalyst, and all of a sudden she can feel the wetness on her cheeks, and she can feel the broken skin on her knees, and she can feel the scream ripping at her throat, but she’ll never let it out. So she reaches around and holds Louis’ hand and pulls him down beside her so she can bury her head in her baby brother’s shoulder because he knows why she feels this pain she’s not allowed to feel.

 

.:x:.

 

_April 1st, 2012_

 

            It’s Uncle George’s birthday, and he doesn’t like to celebrate it for obvious reasons, but the family always gets together anyway, and someone ends up getting drunk and telling stories about Uncle Fred, and somebody always cries, so the children know to steer clear of the house and the adults on this day.

            So they’re in the back, and Teddy and Victoire are at Hogwarts, so James and Fred who are the oldest with birthdays in October and November are picking teams for a game of capture the flag while all of the cousins bow their heads under the intense scrutiny of their leaders.

            Dominique doesn’t think it’s fair that they’re in charge. Her birthday is in December, after all.

            It’s all a game to James and Fred. They’re being very dramatic as they walk up and down the line of children with pensive frowns nodding to themselves all the while.

            Dominique just thinks it’s stupid.

            “Just get on with it already,” she snaps at James when he’s standing in front of her.

            “Don’t tell me what to do!” He says. “Just for that, I’ll make sure you get picked last.”

            But she doesn’t want to be picked last because she’s so _sick_ of being picked last, and who gave him the right to _dare_ pick her last, anyway?

            So she shoves his shoulder with all the force she’s got, and he falls on his back on the damp ground, and she stands over him with one brow raised as if to say _So?_

            And he looks up at her with the kind of fury only seven year old boys are capable of, but then he smiles and says with a grin and a spark in his eyes,

            “I pick Dominique.”

 

.:x:.

 

_September 1st, 2017_

 

            “Hey Princess,” he says, slipping into the compartment that’s empty except for the two of them. “I was looking for you on the platform, you know. Why didn’t you wait?”

            She’s sitting by the window just like she has been for several minutes.

            “Didn’t feel like it,” she replies with a shrug.

            “What’s wrong?” He sits next to her, and of course he knows there’s something wrong.

            She pretends he hasn’t spoken. Eventually, he gets up and closes the compartment door, effectively ensuring that it will remain just the two of them for the rest of the ride.

            He sits back down next to her, closer this time, intentionally invading her personal space because he knows if he pushes her enough she’ll tell him, just like she wants to.

            “It’s disgusting,” she finally snaps. “The two of them snogging in public like that.”

            “Oh, Teddy and Victoire? Yeah, I saw that. When did it finally start?” He can’t believe that that is what’s really got her wand in a knot, so he just tries to keep the conversation going.

            “Last night. Or that’s when they told us. Like we care,” she snorts. “They’re only dating and snogging in broad daylight after dancing around each other for four years. It’s not that impressive.”

            “Dom...” he starts, but she cuts him off.

            “Drop it, James.”

            He sighs. She’s such a pain in the arse, Dominique is, and downright unpleasant to be around sometimes. But he prefers to see what’s causing her unpleasantness underneath it all, and if she doesn’t want to talk about it, he won’t make her. Not this time.

            So he pulls a licorice wand out of his pocket and offers her half. She ignores him at first, but he knows the moment she breaks because she nibbles on her lip a little bit, and her shoulders relax, and then she’s snatching the candy from him and popping it between her lips.

            He grins at her, and she beams at him from around the sweet.

            Everyone else says that her green-grey eyes are cold, but he knows they’re wrong.

            They say Dominique doesn’t smile enough, but James knows they just don’t know how to make her happy.

            “Thanks, Jamie,” she says and leans her head onto his shoulder.

 

.:x:.

 

_December 24th, 2016_

 

They’re sitting side by side crammed into a little space under the stairs at the Burrow. The ceiling slants, and Dominique is on the low side, so to avoid knocking her head she’s laid it on James’ shoulder.

            They’re talking about Hogwarts.  It’s not that they really have anything to fill the other in on, but they like talking about something the other cousins can’t relate to.

            Victoire doesn’t count because she’s too old. Neither does Fred. They haven’t spoken to him since the day after Dominique’s sorting when he told her she was no cousin of his if she let herself get sorted into Slytherin. The adults are very upset that they’ve blacklisted Fred, but all three of them won’t say why they aren’t speaking. Uncle Harry gave James a stern talking-to, but James just told his dad that it was a matter of honor and loyalty and principle, and that was that.  Dominique couldn’t stop smiling for hours when she heard.

            So when Rose and Albus walk by, they raise the volume of their voices to try and get a reaction. They can both be a little mean like that.

            “...And he leaned against tapestry and fell right -” James looks at his brother and cousin with raised eyebrows. “Oh hello. We didn’t see you there.”

            Dominique snickers with her head buried in his shoulder. This earns her a pout from Rose and a glare from Albus. She feels a little guilty for Rose who she’s never minded much, but Albus has hated her since she “stole his big brother,” so she doesn’t mind if they make him mad.

            “Are you talking about Hogwarts?” Rose asks eagerly, her blue eyes lighting up.

            They’re very pretty eyes. Exact same shade as Victoire’s, she notices.

            “Yes, but you wouldn’t possibly understand,” James drawls, fake pity all over his smug face.

            “Well you could tell us about it, couldn’t you?” Rose pleads, drawing closer.

            James ponders this thought dramatically for a moment, before turning to Dominique to look for her opinion. It’s all a show to make the younger children nervous, and she finds it very fun indeed. She rolls her eyes and shrugs her shoulders as if to say that their presence is irrelevant to her.

            “Jaime -” Albus breaks into their little charade.

            “Don’t call me that,” James snaps at his little brother. “Are you stupid? How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

            “Sorry, James,” the younger boy replies.

            “It’s alright little brother,” James grins, not unlike a wolf baring its teeth. “Come and sit. We’ll tell you a story, won’t we Princess?”

            And he turns to Dominique, and there’s this look on his face that she’s come to associate with power, and all she can think is that he’s glowing.

 

.:x:.

 

_July 12th, 2016_

 

            It’s an unlikely friendship, theirs. Yes, they are the same age, and cousins, but they barely see each other except at family events in which there are twelve other children of various ages running about. Their parents aren’t close, never have been, but somehow over the years and the once every few months gatherings they are friends. The best of friends.

            It is an early celebration for Harry’s birthday because the Potters plan to go on holiday this year, and it’s the only chance Grandma Molly will get to shower her only son-in-law with affection.

Things are winding down now, cake has been served, presents given, and the adults mill about in the kitchen and the back garden and laugh and drink and be grown-up, so the kids have scattered into the orchard and greater-back-garden.

Teddy and Victoire stand together by the tree, hands intertwined. He is eighteen, she is sixteen, and they love each other even though they won’t admit it yet, and the whole family loves them together. Dominique’s stomach twists because of course her perfect sister is in perfect love, and the older girl’s skin shines flawless in the falling darkness, and Dominique looks down at the freckles on her shoulders and it’s not really fair.

If she could be perfect like Victoire...

“You’re doing it again,” James says.

He’s lying next to her in the grass watching her watch Victoire.

This is the last time they’ll see each other before they board the train to Hogwarts for the first time at the end of the summer.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hisses.

“Scowling at her like you’re trying to burn holes in the back of her head. I don’t think wish magic works like that, sorry,” he teases.

And Dominique would have laughed, maybe, but Teddy has transfigured a long blade of grass into a crown of flowers, and he’s gone and placed it on Victoire’s pretty golden head.

“She looks like a queen, doesn’t she?” She says to him, a little sigh too.

He pokes her in the shoulder to make him look at her. She does, with a frown on her still-a-little-girl mouth.

“If she’s a queen, you’re a princess,” he says, his warm eyes catching the reflection of a lightning bug thats floating over them.

“So?” She whines. She doesn’t see how that’s supposed to make her feel better. A princess is still second best.

“Well you’ve read all the stories, especially the muggle ones. Princesses always have more fun.”

And he smiles, and she does too.

“Thanks, Jaime.”

“No problem, Princess.”

 

.:x:.

 

_May 31th, 2021_

 

The corridors of the great castle are uncharacteristically silent that night. Slytherin has just won the Quidditch cup, and accordingly, Dominique’s house is partying heavily down in the dungeons. The Gryffindors, coming in second, are licking their wounds up in their tower, and the other Houses are sequestered away in their own common rooms, unhappy that the hated snakes have won.

            Dominique - not much for the sport herself - is wandering the corridors despite the late hour. She’s looking for James, knowing he’ll be patrolling, and hoping to comfort him over his loss. It’s the end of his first season as captain. She’s worried about him.

            But it’s not James she finds as she rounds a corner on the fifth floor.

            She doesn’t know the names of the three Gryffindors - two boys one girl - she thinks they’re sixth years, but she can’t be sure. She knows that their names are the least of her worries, however, when they spot her before she can backtrack and slink back the way she came.

            “Oi! Snake!” One of them calls. It’s one of the boys, the bigger one.

            She stops, turning around cautiously to face them. Now that they’ve noticed her, it’s not safe to turn her back on them. The war and many years between may have passed, but House rivalries are alive and well. Even more so than during her parents’ time, perhaps. With no rising Dark Lord, there’s little more to worry over than House points and Quidditch anyhow.

She checks their robes quickly, and sees that none of them are prefects. At least they can’t get her in trouble for being out after curfew...but that also means they’ll be less reluctant to hex her. As if the fact that the trio has their wands drawn isn’t indication enough.

“Didn’t you hear us?” The girl snaps. She’s very pretty, Dominique notes absently, fingering the end of her wand in the pocket of her robes.

“I heard you,” she replies cautiously. Is there a way out of this? “I’ll...uh, just be going now.”

She starts to pace backward, one hand against the corridor wall, feeling for the corner so she can slip around it and break into a run.

“Don’t leave yet!” The second boy calls with a laugh. “We promise we don’t bite.” She recognizes him. He’s on the Quidditch team - making James his captain.

Which means he must not recognize her as a Weasley, making her his captain’s cousin. Or as Dominique, making her his captain’s best friend. Which means she’s just an outnumbered snake in a den with bitter, angry lions.

She starts to back away more quickly now, but not quickly enough.

The Quidditch boy sends a tripping jinx at her, and before she can react, she’s sprawled on her back on the cold stone, the back of her head throbbing.

Her wand is out now, daring them to make one more move. They may not know it, but Dominique is not someone to be trifled with. She may be quiet, but she’s formidable with a wand.

“Aren’t you going to do anything?” The girl taunts. “Scared, little snake?”

Dominique scrambles backward like a crab. She doesn’t want to fight these students. She may be a good duelist, but she’s outnumbered, and she’s seeing spots in her vision from smacking her head against the ground.

“What’s your name, Slytherin?” The first boy asks, twirling his wand threateningly.

She doesn’t answer. Partly because she’s not sure if it would help - Fred is friends with many of the older students, and he hates her because James stopped talking to him in first year when he refused to acknowledge her as his cousin after she was sorted into the House of green and silver. And partly because they’ve pissed her off, and she doesn’t want to play their games.

“You’ve got a lot of cheek, you know,” the girl hisses, charging forward to stand chest-to-chest with Dominique. She thinks this girl might be on the team too - not good. “Coming up here after the match today. _Everyone_ knows your slimy team _cheated.”_

She’s not sure what makes her say it.

“Just because your keeper doesn’t know one end of his broomstick from the other doesn’t mean you should point fingers.”

She cringers the second the words leave her mouth. Partly because she’s acting like a stupid reckless Gryffindor. Partly because the girl smacks her so hard across the face that she sees stars, and her already pounding head feels like it’s going to split open. She leans over and lets a mixture of spit and a little blood drip from her mouth to the ground at the girl’s feet.

She uses the distraction that causes to lift her wand.

_“Incarcerous!”_ She says, her voice only a little raised, and the other girl is suddenly sliding away from her on the stone floor, bound head-to-foot in magical ropes.

“Bitch!” The second boy, the Quidditch player, shouts, sending a hex she doesn’t recognize her way.

_“Protego!”_ She throws up a shield just in time for the yellow spell to crash into it and fizzle out.

Before he can fire off something else, she sends a stinging hex his way. It catches him in the face, and his features begin to swell immediately as he howls in pain.  She doesn’t pay him anymore attention, however, because she’s dodging the other boy’s slicing hex only to fire a tripping jinx at his feet.

Before he can react, however, a fourth voice rings out in the corridor.

“STOP!”

She cringes. She knows she looks bad with three Gryffindors in various states of incapacitation at her feet.

“What is going on here?” But then she recognizes the voice and lets out a sigh of relief. It’s only James. He’ll know she didn’t attack them. 

“James!” She breaths happily, smiling as he nears the torchlight on the wall enough that they can see each other’s faces.

“Dom?” He looks surprised to see her.

“The little snake bitch attacked us!” The girl shrieks, finally having freed herself from the magical ropes and having clambered to her feet.

James looks nervously at his three housemates - two of them his teammates, all three outranking him in seniority in his House - and back to Dominique.

“I didn’t,” she insists. “I was defending myself.”

“Defending herself?” The bigger boy chimes in with a scoff. “Come on, Potter, like some little girl could beat us if we attacked her first. She snuck around the corner and attacked us.”

“Dominique?” He looks at her questioningly.

She shakes her head, willing him with her eyes not to believe them.

“What, Potter? Afraid to take points?” The first boy taunts.

“Yeah, come on Captain. You know those snakes stole the cup today. Are you going to let them get away with more?” The second boy adds unhelpfully.

Dominique becomes distressed as she views the indecision in James’ eyes. He know she didn’t do anything unprovoked, but he’s also under pressure from his fellow Gryffindors. She thinks the choice should be obvious: her. They’re always on each other’s team. No matter what. So when he speaks next, she feels her stomach rise in her throat.

“Ten points from Slytherin.” His voice is weary.

“Jaime?” She whispers, shocked. The betrayal is unfathomable. Perhaps he misspoke.

“Run along now, little snake,” the girl sing-songs annoyingly.

“But...” She trails off, her face growing hot and her hands beginning to shake.

“Get back to the dungeons before I give you detention.” His voice is cold, and it’s as if she’s been slapped all over again.

She turns away without another word, walking calmly to the corner of the corridor and only breaking into a run once she’s out of sight.

 

.:x:.

 

_November 11th, 2020_

 

            She hears him coming. She would recognize the strike of his heels even in the middle of a crowd.

            “Right on time,” she says without turning around.

            They’re on their balcony, and she’s leaning against the balustrade, and the wind is whipping her long rose gold (though it looks silver in the fading light) hair around her face.

            “I’m always on time,” he replies cheekily, coming to stand beside her. His hands wrap around the edge of the stone and she studies them and when did they get so big?

            “No you’re not,” she scoffs. Because it’s true. He’s late for everything.

            “I’ve never kept you waiting, Princess.” That’s true too. So he’s not quite late for _everything._

            And he’s especially never late for their balcony meetings. They’re in different houses, so it can be hard to find time for each other, but even if he’s had Quidditch practice all day or she’s in a mood or they’ve gotten in a fight, they meet without fail every Sunday after curfew.

            “True,” she gives him a little smile and a nudge with her shoulder.

            “So did you hear?” He asks and her whole body stiffens.

            Of course she’s heard.

            “Hear what?” She plays dumb. Which is laughable, because he knows she’s anything but dumb.

            “You know what. About Teddy and Victoire.”

            She doesn’t reply.

            “He proposed. They’re engaged. Come on, Dom, what’s going on?”

            She knows that he’s probably the only person that would ask. When something is wrong with Dominique, he’s always been the only one brave enough to find out what it is.

            “Nothing. I’m happy for them.”

Why is she such a bad liar around him?

He clears his throat, and he only does that when he’s really nervous. She cringes. She’s not going to like whatever he’s about to say.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

And that’s the very last thing she expected him to say. In love with Teddy? Absolutely not. But...maybe that would be better. If it really was that simple.

“No, I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he sounds angry, really angry. He _is_ angry, and she can feel the tension in his body in the space between them.

“I’m not lying!” She protests. Because she’s not. She doesn’t lie to him. Not when it matters.

“Yes you are. I remember how upset you were when they first got together, and you get this sour look on your face when you watch them together, and, Merlin, it even bothered you when they were close when we were all children!”

No no no he’s got it all wrong, but all she says is,

“I’ve always got a sour look my face.”

He sighs, and it’s like someone’s placed a weight on her chest. It’s a far too exhausted sigh for someone who’s only just turned sixteen. But then he runs his hand through her hair, starting at the back of her head and all the way down, and it feels wonderful.

“No you don’t,” he says. “So you are in love with him?”

And she hangs her head.

“No. It’s worse than that.” Her voice is muffled, but she knows he’s heard her.

“How so? You can tell me, you know that? You can tell me anything.”

And she can. So she does.

“I’m not in love with Teddy, but I hate that he’s in love with her...I hate that she’s so perfect and everything just falls at her feet. I just want something to _not_ go her way for once. And I hate myself for wanting that.”

            Her voice breaks at the end and she’s panting because she’s never said all that before, never written it down, never dared to think it all cohesively, but she’s just spilled it all to him.

            “And I know, that in the end, I don’t want everything to be perfect and easy and predictable because that’s not...what I want, not who I am. But I can’t help but think, it would be a lot easier if it was.”

            His hand wraps around her chin, and he turns her face towards his. His brown eyes are warm and safe.

            “Dominique...”

            He says her name like it’s the only word he knows.

            And then he kisses her.

 

.:x:.

 

            _September 1st, 2016_

 

            She’s on the platform with her family and it seems like every third person to walk by greets her sister.

            “Hey Victoire!”

            “Vic, I missed you!”

            “Ey Toire, looking good.”

            “Hi Vicky!”

            And she knows it’s completely ridiculous that this is so upsetting to her because _for Merlin’s sake_ she doesn’t even know any of these people. But she tends to forget things like that, and it is upsetting.

            “Dominique!”

            And someone knocks into her side, sending her sprawling to the ground.

            It’s James, he’s a little sunburned, his family is behind him, they’re laughing, and he’s blushing a little bit for getting so excited. The two of them are in a heap on the platform.

            “Will you get off me, you idiot?” She snaps at him, trying to keep a smile off her face.

            “You’re not mad,” he pleads, but he gets up and offers her a hand anyway.

            She gets up without his help and glares at him.

            “Princess?” He looks a little nervous now, and it’s funny because he’s still a little shorter than her, but this is the first time anyone’s seen him not looking in completely in charge.

            She gives up.

            “You should have seen your face!” She snickers. “Of course I’m not mad, Jaime.”

            He’s a little miffed at this point, and the adults are laughing.

            “That wasn’t funny,” he grumbles, ruffling the back of his hair with his hand which only makes it more of a mess but what’s the difference anyway?

            “It was a little bit funny,” she smirks.

            “Look at that smirk, Bill!” George exclaims with a laugh, fondly eyeing his niece and nephew. “I think you’ve got a budding Slytherin on your hands.”

            And everyone laughs except for Dominique. Her smile slides right off her face and cracks at her feet.

            She’s rather quiet as everyone says their goodbyes.

            “Dominique Bryonie Weasley, say goodbye to your mother,” Fleur chides.

            So she hugs her mother and gets a kiss on her head that’s nice.

            Once they’re in a compartment - her, James, Fred, and a couple of other kids that were there before - James sits down next to her and says quietly so no one else can hear,

            “I won’t care if you get sorted into Slytherin. I promise I won’t.”

                       

.

 

            And she is (sorted in Slytherin) and he doesn’t (care).

            But Fred does and won’t talk to her.

            And Victoire is very nice about it - just like she is with everything, which is a whole other kind of infuriating - but she always has this pitying look on her pretty face that makes Dominique want to rip it off with her teeth.

            But he doesn’t care, and they sit together in every class they can, and they study together in the library, and steal food from the kitchens in the middle of the night to eat in the secret passageways (her favorite).

 

.:x:.

 

_September 15th, 2021_

 

Dominique is on her way back from the library with her friend Kitty Flint - her _best friend_ now that she and James haven’t spoken since the incident after the Quidditch Cup the year before - and their arms are laden with books and quills and half-full pots of ink. She’s tired and can barely keep up with Kitty’s running commentary on her brand new beau, some Ravenclaw boy with nice hair whose name escapes her. It’s Sunday, her weekend is almost over, and her brain aches at the thought of the week of NEWT-level classes that awaits her.

            It isn’t until they round the corner and slam into Rose and Molly - shattering their inkpots all over the other girls’ robes - that she remembers the Ravenclaw with the nice hair came to a family gathering over the summer as Rose’s date only to drop her for Kitty less than a week later. Judging by the furious glare on Rose’s face as her eyes flick back and forth between Dominique and Kitty The Usurper, it’s a slight that hasn’t been forgotten.

            “Uh oh,” Kitty breathes.

            “Watch where you’re going, _slut,”_ Rose hisses. 

            Dominique thinks that a daughter of Aunt Hermione should be able to come up with a wittier insult, but when she notices that Rose has her wand out with her arm steady, and Molly is nervously backing her with her arm shaking, she decides to keep the thought to herself.

            “It’s not my fault he realized what a prude you are.”

            Dominique decides then that she doesn’t like Kitty much at all, and the girl is an idiot for not knowing when to keep her mouth shut. Besides, she may not get on with Rose all that well, but that doesn’t mean she likes hearing her cousin spoken to in such a way.

            “Say that again,” Molly challenges, and Dominique’s eye’s widen at the fire in her usually weak cousin’s voice.

            “I _said -”_

“Kitty, no -” Dominique pleads.

            “That you’re a prude.”

            “Arrghh!” Rose’s scream is not even an articulate word, but the jelly-legs jinx she sends from her wand straight into Kitty is very articulate indeed.

            Dominique reluctantly whips out her wand. She’s not one to start fights, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t finish them. Slytherins look after their own, after all.

            _“Protego!”_ She shouts to block Molly’s hex.

            Rose is duelling Kitty and spitting off what seems like every spell she can think of, and Molly is surprisingly adept, but Kitty and Dominique are a year older and more experienced.

            _“Expelliarmus!”_ They say within moments of one another, sending her cousins sailing into the stone wall and their wands flying from their hands.

            “Oi! No duelling in the corridors!”

            Her hackles raise when she recognizes James’ voice and turns to see him sprinting down the corridor side by side with one of the Gryffindor boys in their year.

            She looks to Rose and Molly, who are looking a little worse for wear and still covered in ink as they heave themselves to their feet, wandless. She and Kitty are just fine and hold a pair of wands each.  It’s not their fault that they’re better and more experienced, she thinks, but expects to be punished for it anyway.

            “It’s not our fault!” Kitty pleads, eyeing the prefect’s badge on James’ robes warily. “They attacked us first!”

            The Gryffindor boy beside James rolls his eyes.

            “Is that true?”

            Dominique has to remind herself to breath when she realizes James is asking her.

            “Yes, it’s true.” She blinks, her eyes steely. “It’s not our fault we’re better duelists.”

            She almost thinks she sees the corner of his lips twitch, and she’s quite certain she sees his brown eyes soften as they lock with hers.

            And then he looks to Rose, the question plain on his face.

            She glowers in response.

            “As much as I hate to say it -”

            “James you can’t!” The Gryffindor boy protests, but James just hold up a silencing hand.

            “Ten points from Gryffindor. Each.”

            “You can’t be serious!” Rose hisses, her red curls shaking wildly around her face.

            “It’s my middle name,” James says merrily and tosses in a wink.

            Dominique snorts into her hand and feels her chest swell when James looks at her with a smile shining unabashedly on his face.

 

.

 

            She’s not sure what makes her do it, but it is Sunday after all. He’s there on the balcony when she arrives, leaning his back casually against the balustrade and grinning at her so so brightly. 

            And she’s already forgiven him because today he picked her, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.

            When she stands beside him and he slips an arm around her waist, she doesn’t pull away.

 

.:x:.

 

_August 25th, 2025_

 

            She almost doesn’t go to the funeral. She’s holed up in her childhood room, and the walls are still covered with posters and Slytherin banners and pictures that move and laugh and mock her. The bed is small, so narrow, but she likes it because when she lies in it there’s not enough empty space to fit another person - not like her other bed. The bed at James’ flat, their flat, where she hasn’t been in five days.

            There are almost two whole hours until her family will depart, but she has no intention of joining them. She’ll stay here in the little bed in the little room. Maybe she’ll never leave.

But she’s not allowed to hide away that day because her mother comes in and sits on the edge of the little bed and brushes Dominique’s dirty hair away from her sweaty forehead.

“Come chérie, take a shower,” Fleur says, her voice as soft as her soft soft hands.

“Don’t want to,” Dominique mumbles. It’s immature, yes, but what else can she do?

Fleur says nothing, but she pulls the covers away from her daughter’s body and all but drags the girl into the bathroom across the hall.

“Don’t come out until you’re clean,” she chides gently, shutting the door on the image of her youngest daughter staring at the shower controls as if she’s never seen them before.

 

.

 

The first time Dominique steps out of the shower, she realizes she must get back in because she’s forgotten to wash her hair. The second time goes better, and she feels slightly more human when she returns to her room with her skin pink and smarting from the scrubbing.

Her mother is sitting on her bed, looking austere but beautiful in her black dress and neat hairdo.

“You don’t have any clothes here.”

“Oh, I’ll just go get some from my flat,” Dominique says quickly, pulling back on the jumper and denim shorts she came in five days ago.

But her mother knows her too well, and knows that if she’s allowed to go, she’ll never return for the funeral.

“I’ll come with you, I’m already ready,” the older woman says, straightening her skirt and heading for the door. “Come along, Dominique. We don’t have long. We have to be there to support Harry, and Ginny, and your cousins.”

Dominique is taken aback by that statement. It uppercuts her in the stomach really. She’s expected to be there to support her aunt and uncle, her cousins. But if she’s there to support them, who’s going to support her? _No one_ , a voice says with a whisper like knives in the back of her skull. 

It’s not until she’s standing in front of the fireplace with a fistful of floo powder and her mother’s arm in hers that she realizes there’s no way Fleur can come with her back to the flat. It’s so very obvious that she doesn’t live alone. There are traces of him everywhere. The air even smells like him.

“Any day now,” her mother’s gentle teasing cuts through her growing panic.

And because there’s nothing else she can do, she lets go of the powder and calls out her address.

 

.

 

In the brief moments it takes for mother and daughter to travel Dominique finds herself praying to anyone and anything she can think of that her mother will choose today not to be perceptive. To please, just _please_ be oblivious.

She doesn’t even have to open her eyes to know the second they arrive. It’s the smell. It smells like him and her, and all she can see are quiet breakfasts with their hands clasped above the table and nights wrapped in candlelight and each other. It’s enough to make her choke on a sob. She chokes it down that is. Mustn’t let her mother know.

And with that thought, she drops her mother’s arm and hurries into the bedroom, hoping to be in and out with the first black clothing she can find before her mother puts two and two together.

But she’s not prepared for the bedroom. No, she’s not prepared at all.

It might have been okay, she might have made it to the closet and back if it weren’t for the shirt. His shirt. In a crumpled heap on the floor by the foot of the bed on his side.

_Jamie, don’t just leave your shirt on the floor like that,_ she’d told him as she watched him rushing to dress in his Auror robes early in the morning six days ago. She was still in bed, warm, but she watched him with the littlest smile, and as he fixed his collar in the mirror over the dresser he caught her eyes in the reflection, and it was one of those moments that made her heart hurt.

_Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll pick it up later,_ he’d said, _I love you,_ brushing a kiss over her lips before rushing out the door, late as always.

And there was the shirt, just where he’d left it because he was coming back to pick it up. But he wasn’t coming back, and he wasn’t going to pick it up, and he wasn’t going to tell her he loved her ever ever ever again.

She sinks to her knees, still bruised and scabbed from the other day, and gathers the soft cotton in her hands and brings it to her face and the smell...It’s just so perfectly Jamie, and she realizes that this is the most it will ever smell like him ever again, and every day after this it will smell like him a little bit less until it doesn’t smell like him at all.

“Dominique Weasley,” her mother’s voice drifts into the room punctuated by the sound of heels on hardwood, and her mother’s coming but she can’t bring herself to move. “Who lives in this apartment with you? There are a man’s shoes by the door...”

She knows the exact moment her mother walks into the room and sees her crouched on the carpet and whining like a wounded animal. But more importantly, she knows the exact moment that her mother sees _it,_ and realizes exactly what’s been going on in the little flat away from prying eyes.

It’s a sharp intake of breath and the whispered “Potter” from her mother’s lips that tells it because that is it what it says across the battered Gryffindor Quidditch jersey that hangs on the wall on his side of the room. And she can feel her mother putting it all together, the shoes by the door and the two bedside tables each with separate stacks of books and half-drunk glasses of water and the open closet neatly divided into his and hers. And Dominique can’t look up from the worn shirt fisted in her hands that he slept in just days ago.

“Oh you foolish girl,” her mother sighs finally after an immeasurable silence.

            And something snaps inside her.

            “I’m not going to say I’m sorry. Because I’m not sorry. I love...loved him,” she says, surprising venom in her broken voice.

            Fleur sighs loudly, looking decades older for a moment as she brings her hand almost to her hair, before remembering not to ruin its style.

            “Get dressed,” she orders eventually. “And we will never speak of...this,” she waves a hand about the bedroom - _their bedroom._ “Ever again. You will tell nobody, and I will pretend I never knew.”

            And she exits the room, her heels clacking staccato as she goes.

            And that thought hurts. To never speak of it again? To pretend it never happened? How can she do that? It would be like tearing off a limb, locking it in a drawer, and pretending that she couldn’t feel it missing and no one could see the wound.

            But maybe what Dominique needs right then is to not feel, and to lock it away - not forever, just for today - so she dresses all in black and leaves her hair down, one last gift to James because she’s already planning to cut it off.

 

.

 

            So she goes to the funeral. Her mother does not speak to her, does not look at her, but no one notices because their friendnephewcousingrandsonbrotherson has died.

            And so she watches with her hands gripped white-knuckle-tight around each other as they lower the coffin into the ground in Godric’s Hollow, and all she can think is that despite the unforgiving August sun, it must be so cold down there. James hated the cold. This is wrong.

            When it’s all over - not that it isn’t already over, so over - her family disapparates one by one, all to return to the Potter’s house, but she stays standing there because this is all she gets. Everything about their life together was private, it’s only fitting that her grief must now be private too.

            But she knows her family will eventually notice she is not there, although Louis might cover for her for a little bit. Either way, its time to go.

She’ll be back though. She can’t leave him alone here. The ground is cold but he was always warm and safe, and he shouldn’t be alone in this.

“Bye Jaime,” she whispers and with a pop, she is gone.

 

.

 

            And she does return that day - after the briefest of appearances at the reception at his parents’ house - to stand rigidly with her hands curled so tightly against the headstone that it chips her nails.

            And when she leaves, it’s back to their flat, but only for a moment. A moment to pack a bag with poorly chosen clothes and his t-shirt from the floor.

            A couple of hours later, she’s on a ferry, and it’s making her wish they’d taken a vacation at the seaside because _Jaime would have loved this._

She thinks she’ll visit Ireland.

 

.:x:.

 

_August 19th, 2025_

It is very early. Not so early that the sky has no light at all to it, but early enough.

            James rolls over to face Dominique and has to try very hard not to snort at the image that greets him. Her face is shoved into the pillow, and her long hair looks like its trying to escape from her head, sticking up in all directions. She’s not an elegant sleeper. She only sleeps on her stomach with the covers pulled all the way over her head, more often than not. He loves it.

            But he doesn’t have time to lie and watch her breathe, wondering about her dreams. It may be early, but he’s already late - just like he always is. So he slips out of their bed as carefully as he can, taking care to pull the blankets back up until they almost cover all of her, just the way she likes it.

            His shower is hot. Hotter that Dominique could possibly stand. She likes her showers slightly cool. He likes it when he’s worried about his skin melting off. This is how they’ve always been. James is hot, Dominique is cool. But when it’s just the two of them, stolen away in their little one-bedroom corner, they find a balance. James relaxes, appreciates he stillness. And Dominique smiles more, her edges softening for him.

            She is half-awake when he reenters the room. Her eyes are drooping shut, and she hasn’t bothered to consider what her hair is doing - for he knows she’ll fix it the second she notices - but she’s smiling at him blearily from her cocoon of blankets as he readies himself for work.

            He kicks his discarded t-shirt closer to under the bed as he goes to retrieve his Auror robes from the closet.

            “Jaimie,” she croaks, her first word of the day.  “Don’t just leave your shirt on the floor like that.”

            He smirks at her reflection in the mirror. Even half-asleep, she’s still worrying about his messes.

            “Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll pick it up later.” He could pick it up now, but he likes to push buttons.

            He approaches her, just a head and one shoulder sticking out from a mound of covers, and brushes an errant clump of tangled hair behind her ear.

            “I love you,” he whispers, his lips brushing over hers.

            He never leaves without a kiss. Without telling her he loves her.

            “Love you too,” she murmurs, already drifting off again. Dominique’s not a morning person, preferring to hide away until the afternoons because she writes for a magazine from home and can sleep all day if she wants to, but she’s always awake when he leaves in the morning.

            He straightens his collar one last time, before casting her a fond glance and rushing out the door.

 

.:x:.

 

_July 19, 2024_

 

“Sure is nice to have the family together for dinner,” his mother says with a pointed look at each of her children.

            Lily is always out Godric-knows-where doing Merlin-knows-what until the early hours of the morning, Albus is recently graduated and has been moved out of the house for all of three weeks, and James...well James has his own secret little life that he’d rather never leave, and it’s too _damn hard_ to dodge questions and spin lies all the time, so he avoids the family as much as possible.  It’s easier that way, and the ever-present, persistent knowledge that they would condemn the two of them if they knew has kindled a reluctant bitterness in his heart that he doesn’t seem quite able or willing to shake. 

            Lily picks at her nails, Al smiles apologetically, and James just feels tired. It’s not fair.

            “Well, I’m heading home for the night,” Al says, pushing back from the table and prompting the rest of the family to begin cleaning up and moving into the next phases of their evenings as well.

            Lily slips out not long after, not offering any excuse like her brother, but also going so quietly that James is the only one to notice her departure.

            “I should probably head out too,” he says when its just him and his parents in the living room.

            “Are you sure, dear?” Ginny purses her lips. “Why would you want to go back to that empty flat of yours when you could stay and...play exploding snap with your poor old parents?”

            Harry shakes his head affectionately at his wife, and James give her an apologetic shrug.

            “Night, mum,” he kisses her on the head before going to retrieve his jacket from where he left it draped over the arm of the couch.

            But he drops it clumsily, and when he goes to pick it up off the ground, a pack of Marlboros falls out onto the carpet.  Trying to be casual, he picks them up and tucks them back into his pocket, proceeding to slide his arms into the sleeves and head towards the floo as if nothing out of the ordinary has just happened.

            “James Sirius Potter,” his father’s voice, unusually stern makes him stop, cringing but not turning around. “What just fell out of your pocket?”

            He turns around reluctantly. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a pack of fags before, Dad?”

            “Don’t be smart,” his mother snaps.

            “Sit down, son,” his father says wearily, seating himself on the sofa beside Ginny and gesturing to the adjacent armchair.

            James looks around furtively, as if hoping to find some escape route in his childhood home that he’d inexplicably never noticed before, before dropping into the chair.  He picks nervously at the fraying seaming on the arms of the chair.  It’s a great hulking beast of a thing that originally belonged to Grimmauld place, but Ginny fell in love and commandeered it from the old house. 

            “So you smoke now.” It’s not a question, and Harry’s eyes are searching behind the lenses of his spectacles.

            “Don’t suppose you’d believe me if I told you they belonged to a friend?” James laughs weakly.

            “Don’t you know how terrible they are for you? Not to mention that it’s just - well, it’s not because they’re muggle, but they’re really awful, James.”

            He’s struck suddenly by how _old_ his father looks.  There are wrinkles around his brilliant green eyes and an exhaustion in the character of his mouth that might have always been there, but James is only just noticing now. He wonders what put the silver in his hair and the shadows beneath his eyes.  Is it memories of the war and the people he lost and the things he did to survive victorious?  Or is it the stress of raising three children that have given him more trouble than most Death Eaters ever did?

            It’s hard to believe that the man who defeated the Darkest wizard in living memory is sitting across from him on a couch with an afghan draped over the back and lecturing him about smoking muggle cigarettes. 

            “Dad, I’m nineteen years old. Don’t you think I’m old enough to have a few bad habits?”

            His mother purses her lips.  His father runs a hand over his tired face before looking to his wife for support. He takes her hand in his where it sits in her lap, and she squeezes back tightly.

            Its hard to believe he came from these people sometimes. He may have his father’s hair, his mother’s eyes and unmistakably Weasley mouth, but they’re so transparent, so open with nothing to hide.  Sometimes it seems to him that the cords and fibers of their souls are laid out shamelessly in neat, perfect little rows for all to see.  And James’ are a tangled, messy snarl that sits somewhere between his heart and his gut, so deeply buried not even he can make sense of them.

            “It’s not about the cigarettes, dear.” His mother’s eyes flicker back and forth between her husband and eldest son.

            James spreads his hands in front of him. _Go ahead, the floor’s all yours._

“Where’ve you been? We never see you anymore, James.”

            “What’re you talking about?  I see you practically every day at the ministry, Dad.”

            “Yes, and you wave to me from your desk sometimes before heading out on a mission if I’m lucky, or I just get a glimpse of the back of your head if I’m not, and -”

            “This is the first night you’ve seen any of us since April,” Ginny interrupts. “You and Dominique showed up for a grand total of about an hour at the Burrow before disappearing again.  What is it that you have against this family that keeps you from interacting unless absolutely necessary? Are we not good enough for you?”

            It’s the insult in his mother’s eyes and the disappointment in his father’s that makes him suck on the inside of his cheek and twitch his fingers, wishing there was a cigarette between them. 

_I’m not good enough for you,_ he wants to say. He’s the eldest son of Harry Potter, and he hates working in the Auror office, and he’s not noble, and he has bad habits and loves the wrong people.  And it’s easier to just _be_ and forget about _not being_ if he doesn’t have to be confronted with everybody’s expectations every other second.

            “No - Mum - don’t be ridiculous - I’m sorry,” he takes a deep breath. He’s not making much sense because he’s not sure what to say and he’s never been good at making things up on the fly. That’s Dominique’s job.

            “When was the last time before tonight when you spent proper time with anyone in this family other than Dominique?” James opens his mouth to retort, but Harry holds up a hand to silence him. “I know the two of you are close, but - well - she’s not your only family.”

            His hands are very tense now around the arms of his chair.

            “She’s my _best friend,”_ he bites out.

            “We’re just worried that you’re isolating yourself,” Ginny pleads. “And we know she’s your friend, but she’s - well she’s not really -”

            “She’s not really _what,_ Mum?”

            “Well she’s not really the best influence!”

            “Ginny,” his father whispers, placing a calming hand on her shoulder.

            James is one the edge of the cushion, shoulders so tense they’re practically quivering.

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “She’s never made an effort to be a part of this family -”

            “What? Because she was a Slytherin?”

            “ _No._ Because she doesn’t speak to anyone but you and Louis! Bill is worried about her, and - well, does she even have a real job? She’s the one that got you started on those muggle cigarettes too, isn’t she?”

            Harry’s removed his glasses and is pinching the bridge of his nose.

            “She writes from home and get’s paid for it too - sounds like a real job to me.” James stands abruptly from his chair. Once again he’s not measuring up because they don’t like the woman he’s in love with, and they _don’t even know._

            He stalks over to the floo and ignore his parents as they rise to follow him, falteringly.

            Before he disappears into the flame he casts them an apologetic glance because like he’d _ever_ have the backbone to just walk out on them like that.

            “And if you really want to know, she picked up the habit from me, not the other way around.”  He releases his handful of floo powder and steps in. “I started it.”

            Harry nods and Ginny chews irritably on her lips.  James calls out his address and disappears.

 

.:x:.

 

_April 5, 2025_

 

            The Burrow is positively overflowing with Weasleys, Potters, and Lupins. It’s just a few days after Easter, so those still in Hogwarts are home for the holidays, and it seems even distant relations have descended upon the legendary, if slightly ramshackle house for the first birth in the next generation of Weasleys.

            Victoire has given birth to a lovely baby girl just two days before, and she and Teddy and their little bundle are the center of attention.

            Dominique looks as if she’s eaten something foul.

            She stands under a gnarled apple tree that somehow managed to take root outside the orchard and beside the garden wall many years ago and was allowed to grow into the hulking beast it is now by some sympathetic Weasley of times past. She’s decided to toss the unspoken dress code of pastels, and creams, and lovely _pretty_ colors out the window, and her wine colored dress stands out horribly while at the same time seeming to fade into the background.

            James thinks the color looks absolutely breathtaking against the strawberry shimmer of her hair and the milky smear of her collarbones left bare by the neckline.

            He watches her over there being sullen by herself - funny how such a sour expression can be so endearing on the right person - while he catches up with his siblings to hear about how they’ve been in the long months since they last spoke. 

Albus seems to be pretending that he’s not worried in the slightest about his exams at his muggle university, but James notes the way his little brother tugs uncomfortably at his collar when the subjects of his academics comes up.  Which is laughable because he’s just as brilliant as Rose, if not quite as hard working. But James lets it slide and decides not to needle the kid for his insecurities.  If he’s learned anything from Dominique, its that picking at flaws like a scab will prompt dangerous responses.

And just like that his eyes are flickering over to her again by the wall and the ugly apple tree.  A fresh muggle cigarette is dangling from the harsh pout of her lips.

“She looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, doesn’t she?”

It’s Lily who makes the observation as Albus has wandered off to somewhere else, and when James glances down to watch her watching Dominique, he finds himself wondering when his baby sister grew up and what she’s doing with three piercings in her left ear and all that make-up ‘round her bright brown eyes.

And then he follows her gaze back to Dominique who’s looking forlornly and bitterly at the back of her sister’s golden head. The ice has melted off her grey-green eyes for once, and the glassy heartbreak in them has suddenly made her ruinously beautiful in her wine-colored dress with her rose-gold hair and twisted lips all in the shade of a wretched tree in a sunny sunny garden.

“She does,” he agrees.

Lily takes his arm and leans her head against his shoulder.  He’s glad that she still smells like her green-apple shampoo and the sour muggle candy she’s loved since she got some on a trip to the zoo when she was four and James was seven. It reminds him that deep-down she’s still the scab-kneed hellion of their childhood and not this almost-grown up that he barely recognizes.

“She looks very beautiful,” Lily sighs.

He doesn’t notice her looking up at him because he’s still looking at Dominique.

“She always looks beautiful.”

The words are out before he thinks about them, and he can feel the back of his neck going red. He’s praying that she didn’t hear, but he’s also hoping that she did because he’d like to tell someone, just _one_ someone, that he’s been in love with Dominique for so many years that loving her is as reflexive as breathing, and maybe the only thing he’s ever been sure about.  And it makes his heart bitter with anger that he should have to keep the best part of his life secret from the only people he’s ever wanted to share it with. James doesn’t like secrets, and sure he’d keep a thousand and one secrets for her and for _them_ , but that doesn’t mean he has to like it.

Lily tugs gently on his arm, forcing him to meet her gaze.  She’s looking up at him so transparently, so sincerely that all the make-up and rebellion and electricity that make up this new grown-up Lily she’s turned into overnight melt away.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” she whispers earnestly.

And in all the times he’s imagined this moment where someone catches them at their game of secrets and closed doors he’d never imagined he would feel so...light.

“Thanks, Lil,” he chokes out, almost speechless from the gamut his emotions have run in the past few seconds.

“I wish things were different,” she muses, and continues hurriedly when she sees his affronted reaction, “For the two of you - or with everyone but the two of you - so you could be together properly, I mean.”

He looks over to where Dominique is putting out the stub of her cigarette on her heel and leaving it the grass - probably on purpose because couldn’t she just vanish it away so none of the adults stumble across it later?

“I do too.”

Roxanne comes up to drag Lily off somewhere, so she gives his arm one last reassuring squeeze and leaves him standing there alone with his hands in the pockets of his pants and shivering slightly because he’s left his jacket inside and is too lazy to go get it. 

Dominique chooses that moment to look in his direction, and he’s stunned breathless by the desolation fallen like a shade across her face.

He joins her under the tree and rests his back against the bark beside her, bending one knee to prop his foot against the trunk and leaning casually to the side so that her shoulder and the top of her arm brush his chest as she falls slightly, subtly back against him. He reaches into the pocket of her dress for the pack of Marlboros and pulls out two before using his wand to light them and placing one each between their lips. 

Such a dirty little habit they share.

“Any particular reason you’re giving your sister the look and smoking like a chimney in Grandma Molly’s garden?”

She doesn’t answer right away.  Instead she shoots a very pointed glance at his own cigarette, a little smirk dancing on her slightly chapped lips.

He shrugs, and she rolls her eyes. Then she sighs and leans more heavily against him.  Her heels have made her taller than usual, and her head comes too high to rest comfortably against his shoulder, so he straightens up a bit against the tree, and she relaxes finally.

“They look so happy.”

He follows her gaze to where Teddy is sitting and gazing adoringly down at his daughter in his lap, and Victoire is combing her long fingers through his turquoise hair as she goes back and forth between smiling down at her little family and chatting happily with Aunt Hermione.

He agrees with her - they do look happy - but something tells him agreement isn’t what she’s looking for out of this conversation, so he stays quiet and waits for her to say more.  She’s always got more on her mind that she initially reveals. 

“I just - we won’t ever,” she pauses and fiddles with the hem of her dress with one hand while she takes a long drag on her cigarette.

When she exhales, the smoke curls out of her nostrils in lazy spirals that lose shape until they surround the pair in a hazy cloud.

“That’s never going to be us, is it, Jaime?”

And he wishes that he could tell her that she’s wrong, but he can’t. Because they will never ever sit in Grandma Molly’s garden surrounded by their friends and family with wedding rings on their fingers as they celebrate the birth of their first child.

The thought makes him put out his cigarette half finished and ruffle his hair at the back and clear his throat because that’s what he does when he doesn’t know what to do.

It breaks his heart a little bit because not only does he want that future more than anything in the world, but he wants it with _her._ And he can tell that for all the ice she pretends to keep around her heart, she wants it too.

“I’m sorry that I can never give you that, Princess.” He twines his hand in hers, hidden behind her skirt and between their bodies.

“We could run away - somewhere they’d never know us. We could be anyone we want.” She looks up at him with a spark in her eyes, and they’re so close he could count the freckles on her cheeks - if he hadn’t already, countless times. “We could go to Ireland. I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

And he agrees because he knows as much as he wants to say yes, and as serious as she is, they’ll never go because he may be a Potter but they’re _both_ Weasleys, and they could never just _leave._

“When do we leave?” He asks.

“Someday,” she answers.

 

.:x:.

 

_August 31st, 2023_

 

She props the grocery bag on her hip as she reaches for her wand to unlock the door to their flat.  They graduated in June and lasted exactly five weeks - just long enough for their respective families to visit them once in their own apartments - before she told her landlord she’d be moving out and she showed up at James’ with her trunk the same day.

            She knows they’re being foolish and fanciful, shacking up together like they’re just another couple, but she doesn’t think she’s ever been so happy in her life.

            A small part of her that she exiles to the dark corners of her mind is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

            When she opens to door and opens her mouth to call out a greeting, the first thing she sees are James’ wide, pleading eyes locked on hers as he gives an imperceptible shake of his head.

            The second thing she sees are the backs of two familiar heads on the couch that face away from the door. They have company, and she is very very glad she cleaned that morning and none of her things are lying out. A quick glance down the hall shows that the doors to the bedroom and bathroom are closed. _Thank Merlin._

            Albus and Louis rise from their seats when they hear the door open, curious expressions on their faces at the sight of her in James’ doorway with a bag of groceries and looking far too comfortable.

            There’s a tense moment of silence that seems to reach its fingers to wrap around her throat before she remembers that she’s a Slytherin, and nothing if not slippery.

            “James! You didn’t tell me Albus and Louis were coming too!” She chides, her voice sounding so false to her own ears she begins to wonder if she should just shut up and let them draw their own conclusions.

            “Coming for what?” Albus directs his question at James who only looks hopelessly lost.

            “Dinner, of course,” she answers for him.

            Finally _finally_ James catches up. “Yeah, Dom here cooks for me all the time! Merlin knows I’d starve or poison myself if left to my own devices.”

            His laugh is a little hollow, and Louis’ eyes narrow, but Albus snickers and nods his head in agreement.

            “So are you two staying?” She asks as she kicks off her shoes by the door and moves toward the kitchen with the groceries.

            It’s Louis that answers. “Afraid not. Al wanted to say bye to James because we head back to school tomorrow, and I just thought I’d come along because there was nothing better to do.”

            She can feel James’ sigh of relief from across the room.  She could slap the idiot. He’s always been so transparent.

            “Oh, well that’s...too bad.” Spending all her time with James has made her a terrible liar.

            She backs away into the kitchen because there’s nothing else to say.

            Louis appear a moment later and begins to wordlessly unpack the bag of groceries for her.

At her questioning expression he says, “Thought I’d give them a few minutes to themselves, and I could come say bye to my sister while I was at it.” He pauses and turns to face her fully, crossing his gangly arms over his chest. “I was thinking about stopping by your flat after -”

            She makes a startled sound in the back of her throat before she can stop herself.

            “- but now I’m thinking it would have been a waste of time.”

            “Lou - I - it’s not - er -”

            He rolls his eyes.

            “Dom, I don’t know if the rest of the family is blind, or just stupid, but I’m neither, yeah?”

            She nods, skin turning ashen and making her freckles stand out at the contrast. 

            “I’m not, uh, here to pass judgement,” and he suddenly looks every inch the awkward sixteen-year-old as he flushes and shoves his hands in his pockets. “But I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

            The tightness in her chest makes it impossible to speak, but she nods gratefully and keeps her gaze trained on the floor.  She can’t tell James.  She doesn’t want him worrying more than he already does.

            She’s still staring at the linoleum when Albus calls that it’s time to go and the two unexpected visitors depart.

 

.:x:.

 

_December 24th, 2024_

 

            He’s sitting on the floor in the little living room with his back leaned up against the couch and she’s watching him from the doorway of the kitchen. His hair is sloppy and needs a trim desperately, but she likes that way it sticks up after he runs a hand through it roughly and turns his head to catch her eye.

            “Whatcha looking at, Princess?” He asks her.

            And she’s looking at him with his profile glowing from the firelight and his silhouette backlit by the fairy lights on their little Christmas tree, and he’s beautiful.

            “You,” she replies honestly.

            She takes the large mug of hot chocolate from the counter that she’s made for them and joins him on the floor. She straddles his lap with her bare legs and feet covered by a pair of his woolen socks folded up on either side of them.

            He leans in to give her a kiss, but she lifts the mug in between them and he gets a sip of cocoa instead. His eyes are locked with hers over the rim, and they’re warm and safe.

            He takes the mug from her hands and puts it on the ground beside them, and then he’s kissing her and he tastes like cocoa.

            “I love you,” she whispers.

            He takes her words and swallows them, and she can see them filling him up until he gives them back to her again, changed and crafted just for her.

            “I love you.” She hears his oath but feels it too in his breath and the brush of his soft soft lips on hers which are a little bit chapped but neither of them cares.

            He kisses her neck and sucks on that little spot under her jaw that only he knows about, and her hands are in his hair.

The fire pops loudly and the spring apart, gasping at the sudden noise. When they realize what has happened they descend into a fit of giggles, and suddenly they’re just two kids laughing in the dark, but then the clock chimes midnight.

“Merry Christmas, Princess,” he says seriously, his hands on either side of her face so gently but not too gently because he knows she won’t break, and that’s a bit of why he loves her.

So she kisses him and then her back is pressed into the floor and they’re trying to get as close as possible.  And the cocoa is getting cold, and there’s snow starting to collect in the corners of the window pane while the fire slows, but it’s warm and safe.

 

.:x:.

 

_August 20th, 2025 I_

 

            James looks to his partner - Miranda Perkins, a Tough As Nails woman in her early thirties that could kick his arse with or without her wand in thirty seconds flat - and catches her eye before glancing significantly at a man sitting at the bar.  The muggle club is packed despite it being after four in the morning, the noise is deafening, and the pulsing lights make him want to rip his eyes out, but all that cannot distract from his absolute certainty that the man with the blonde hair and crooked nose and jacket collar flipped up against his cheek is the wizard they’ve been chasing all over the country for most of the summer. 

            He’s the leader - and last to be captured - of a small group of four wizards guilty of muggle-baiting and five muggle murders in the past several months. Not a priority-level job for the auror office in times when tensions have begun to stir as they always do every couple of decades or so, but high up enough that James’ whole body is a livewire of excitement at the prospect of him and Miranda being the ones to finally bring him in.

            His father will be so proud.

            Miranda nods once, and the two split up - her to weave through the throng of bodies on the dance floor to get as close as possible and him to creep disillusioned behind the bar. The man is alone for once, and certainly knows he’s being chased if he’s come to such an overwhelmingly _muggle_ place. The plan is to stun him in close range with as few witnesses that will need memory modification as possible.

            James sidesteps in his disillusioned form, pressed against the back-bar so as not to bump into the muggle bartenders, and keeps his hand clenched tightly around his wand.  He’s glad that the erratic flashing of the lights will hopefully make the blurriness of his form less obvious to anyone that might happen to look.

            The man is staring down at his technicolor drink with an expression of thinly-veiled distaste.  The fingers of one hand drum absently on the bar to the beat of the music and the fingers of the other tap out a different rhythm on his thigh.

            James sees Miranda emerge from the writhing pit of bodies and draw her wand, her eyes intent on their target.

            And it’s just a split-second glance, but that’s all it takes for James to know something is terribly wrong.

            The man flicks his eyes up slightly and their gazes lock for a single, chilling moment. He has blue eyes.

He leaps from his stool at the bar, pulling his wand from his pocket so fast the motion blurs.  A woman several seats down pulls a wand as well, easily deflecting Miranda’s stunner for the blonde man.

James sees the curse leave the man’s wand and he throws up a shield even though he knows dammit he _knows_ that it can’t be blocked. 

And all he can think in the less-than-a-blink moment before it slams into his chest is that it’s such an ugly shade of green and he’d much prefer the flecked with silver of her eyes.

 

.

 

            In the soft light of almost dawn, she rolls over and throws her arm out and the other side of the bed is cold.


	3. Chapter 3

_August 20th, 2037_

 

            “Dominique!”

            She looks up at the sound of her name, glancing around and wondering if she can sneak away before she’s forced to speak to its owner. She’s made it the whole day without running into anyone that’s recognized her or at least tried to talk to her, and she’d like to keep it that way.

            “Dominique! It’s really you!”

            And then she’s practically knocked from her chair by a tumble of red hair that smells like apples and sour candy.  It’s all happening very fast, and she’s dragged from her chair and held at arms length and _oh - it’s Lily._

“Lily,” she breathes, the sight of the younger woman resurrecting so many memories that she’d almost forgotten about.

            Lily looks lovely with her eyes bright and hair as long and tangled as ever. It’s nice to see that some things never change.

            “You cut your hair.”

            Dominique is so caught off guard that _that_ is what comes out of her cousin’s mouth, and all she can do is nod and mumble a reply.

            “Uh, yeah.”

            “We thought you might have been dead, you know.” Lily’s brown eyes - _Merlin,_ those eyes, they never get easier to look at do they? - pin her with accusation.

            “I was in Ireland,” Dominique shrugs, casting a flicker of a glance over Lily’s shoulder and through the glass window of the ice cream shop.

            “Ireland...” Lily muses. “We didn’t think to look there. Although Louis always told us you probably didn’t want to be found anyway.”

            Her little brother was right, but she thinks it might be insensitive to tell Lily that.

            “Lily? Who’re you talking to?”

            Dominique cringes at the voice that comes from over her shoulder because _this one_ she recognizes, and she is so not prepared for a family reunion.

            “It’s Dominique!” Lily shouts excitedly, tugging her around to face several more people she doesn’t feel like talking to.

            “Dom?” Teddy’s hair flashes no less than fourteen different colors at the sight of her. 

            “Yeah, it’s me.”

            He blinks several times, seeming unable to process what’s happening.

            In his distraction, she takes in the sight of his companions.

            One is a girl that looks about twelve with light brown hair, Weasley-blue eyes, and Victoire’s chin.  The other is a boy - so obviously her brother and around a year younger.

            So she’s an aunt twice over now.  She realizes that she doesn’t even know the boys name, and that feels wrong somehow.

            And then there’s Rose with a very blonde toddler in her arms and a steely glint in her blue eyes.  The icy expression doesn’t settle well in Dominique’s stomach, and she finds herself wishing possibly for the first time that things had been different between them. Between all of them.

            Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like she were standing in front of a bunch of strangers instead of her own family.

            “What are you all doing here?”

            Merlin’s beard it’s a ridiculous question because she’s the one that’s been in hiding for twelve years, but it’s all she can think to ask.  Because what _are_ they doing here making a day that’s already difficult that much more challenging?

            “Back to school shopping,” Teddy offers into the tense silence. “Gabrielle needs her books, and Quincy’s starting Hogwarts this year.”

            “And Rose and I decided we’d come along with little Leo here for the entertainment,” Lily offers brightly, almost lessening the tension before adding with a wink, “And the ice cream.”

            “What are _you_ doing here?” Rose asks harshly.

            But because her life so often seems like some ridiculous cosmic joke, the answer to the question comes not from her, but from the voice of someone behind.

            “Mum! Can we go get my wand now?”

            Dominique cringes.

            Teddy looks like he’s seen a ghost, and Roses’ eyes go impossibly wide.

            Lily covers her mouth with her hands, and finally Dominique turns around.

            He’s eleven years old with a fresh ice cream cone in one hand, and his dark hair sticks up at the back, and maybe his eyes are more green than brown, but he looks so much like his father that some days it makes her want to blind herself in a vain desperation to make it hurt a little less.

            She must look as overwhelmed as she feels, because her son’s face flickers with confusion before she forces herself to school her features.

            “Ben, sweetie, there’s some people I’d like you to meet,” she beckons him closer with a shaky hand.

            Of course he knows all about his family and more specifically his _parents,_ and she’s never been more glad that she decided upon a policy of honesty with her son from the very beginning.  She hopes it will lessen the disaster of this interaction.

            It still feels like a train crash.

            Teddy, Rose, and Lily are still stunned silent, and even Gabrielle and Quincy look a little confused.

            “Ben, this is your Uncle Teddy and your cousins Rose, Gabrielle, Quincy, and Leo.” And she locks eyes with Lily, trying to somehow prepare James’ little sister for what she’s about to say. “And this is your Aunt Lily.”

            Rose’s sharp intake of breath is somehow impossibly loud over the din of Diagon Alley.

            “Hullo. I’m Benjamin!” Ben waves at them with the hand not containing an ice cream cone, charming and over-confident and so very like James with his disarming smile. “We’re doing my Hogwarts shopping for my first year today!”

            Teddy splutters, but nods his head nonetheless.

            Rose goes from pink to puce to white as she blinks furiously and clutches her son ever-tighter in her arms. “I - I just - can’t. I’m sorry,” she bites out in a rush before turning on her heel and rushing away, getting swallowed by the bustling throng of shoppers almost instantly.

            Teddy looks apologetically back and forth between Lily, Dominique, and Ben before ushering his children off after Rose.

            Lily turns to Dominique and her eyes are shining a bit wetly, but the smile on her her face is brilliant, so Dominique returns it with a little one of her own.

            And then Lily turns, offers her hand to her nephew and says, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Benjamin.”

 


End file.
